


Event Horizon

by oldmountainsoul



Series: The Dying Stars [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bastila is a Baby Gay Nerd, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Panic Attacks, Retelling, Revan is a Huge Gay Loser, Slow Burn, Trauma, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmountainsoul/pseuds/oldmountainsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bastila Shan is just a Padawan, and yet she alone carries the burden of a terrible secret, the fate of the galaxy depending on her ability to keep it. She took a gamble, saving Darth Revan's life, and then tampering with the mind of an unpredictable Sith Lord. She will save the Republic, and she will redeem Revan, no matter the cost. Bastila may destroy herself in the process, but she is determined to see her choices through to the end.</p><p>An AU retelling of KOTOR from Bastila's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic features a Female Revan, as you might have guessed. And it will often diverge from the game's story, just some minor tweaks for fun and more Revastila (and perhaps more angst), though it will follow the same basic story of the game. It will also reference the two prequels in the series before it frequently, and I'd highly recommend you read them before this if you haven't already (they're fairly short). Thank you so much, and I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I have loved writing it!

“No one bothers the girl. Brejik’s orders,” a guard snarls in Huttese, shoving back a racer who stumbled too close to Bastila’s cage.

 _Brejik…_ Bastila knows that name, remembers  being dragged from the wreckage of her escape pod in a concussed haze, dragged before a smarmy weasel of a man who introduced himself as Brejik, ‘leader of the Black Vulkars’ before he snapped the collar around her neck and threw her in a cell. And because of _him,_ because of this _Brejik_ and his _Vulkars,_ Bastila has been in the dark for weeks, dazed and unaware of anything but the incessant drone at the back of her skull and the collar that’s too tight around her neck. Everything else is . . . distant, blurry. As if it were happening to someone else. She vaguely remembers being shuttled, prodded along, stuffed into a different cage. It’s so much louder here, and her head _aches,_  from the noise and press of the crowds, from the too-bright lurid neon lights overhead, to the smell of smoke and something burning, and the roar of engines--it’s too much, it’s too much--

And then something brushes against her mind, and the onslaught on her senses . . . eases, somehow. Her vision clears, the deep, buzzing ache at the base of her skull lessens, and her surroundings come into view. She’s still dizzy, unsteady on her feet, but she can think, she can see and hear and make some sense of things. Taris, she’s on _Taris._ At a . . . swoop track?

A black-haired, dark-eyed human woman in her late twenties, of roughly Bastila’s height and stature, was apparently undeterred by the brute of a man guarding her cage. She’d marched right up to him, arguing hotly and jabbing him in the chest with her finger. Something about the woman strikes Bastila as familiar, though she can’t quite place it, still dizzy from the neural disruptor.

“Do you know what I have fucking gone through on this miserable cesspit of a planet? Do you know what I just did to your base yesterday? Because you should. It wasn’t pretty, oh no, not by any stretch of the imagination. So when I say I’d like to speak to her, you’d better fucking believe I’m going to do so, because I don’t give a single flying _fuck_ what a steaming pile of bantha shit like Brejik wants. Is that clear? No? Let me clear that up for you,” the racer hisses, pulling her arm back and slugging the man in the jaw, knocking him flat.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on me again,” she snarls, kicking the guard once to make sure he’s down before turning to grab at the bars of the cage, leaning in close.

“Hey, are you alright? I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m with the Republic. I’m going to get you out of here in a moment, Bastila. But just in case, here’s this,” she whispers hurriedly, passing a key into Bastila’s hands before she vanishes back into the crowd to dodge Brejik’s goons.

Bastila fumbles with the key, almost dropping it when the comms screech over the cheers of the crowds. She has to hide it in her fist, but it’ll do for now.. Apparently ‘pockets’ weren’t considered a priority by whoever made the leather corset Brejik’s goons had stuffed her into. The crowd is making way for the winner of the race who’s just been announced, though Bastila doesn’t catch the name--but it’s the Republic agent who’s swaggering to the desk to claim her ‘prize’.

 And Brejik’s right there to meet her, blustering and shoving his way through, smacking the racer aside.

“This woman cheated! She has broken into my base, murdered our men, and bullied her way here! She even had the gall to make off with our prototype accelerator!” he shouts, yanking the racer close by her collar, and sneering something that Bastila _does_ hear.

“This race was _mine,_ the Lower City is _mine,_ do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” she spits, grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm behind his back. “Do you understand _this?_ ”

Brejik howls and his Vulkars press in, vibroblades whirring and blasters drawn.

“You’re gonna wanna let go of our boss, girlie,” one of them growls.

“Well you could have said ‘please,’” the racer mutters, relinquishing her hold  in favor of her blaster and rolling to cover behind the desk as Brejik starts calling for his men to commit mass murder.

_Enough._

 Damn the Republic agent’s plans-- Bastila has had _enough_ of this. She has been poked, prodded, degraded, and utterly humiliated. She will suffer no more. Bastila seethes, summoning up her will, drowning out the endless buzzing in her skull with a surge of Force as she pulls one of the Vulkars to her, slamming him against the cage. She reaches through the bars,wrapping her arms around his throat and choking him out. She tosses him aside with another surge of Force and unlocks her cage, picking up his fallen double-bladed vibrosword.

 _Perfect,_ she grins. Doublesabers have always been her favorite weapon, but this will do nicely-- though after what she’s been through, she could quite happily strangle the rest of the Vulkars with her bare hands.

Bastila leaps into the fray with a snarl, blood roaring in her ears as she scythes through their ranks, closing in on Brejik.

He’s backpedaling frantically, clutching his blaster in his good hand while the other hangs uselessly at his side, firing volley after volley as Bastila steadily advances.

“You should be incapacitated! You were restrained by a neural disruptor! This is _wrong_ , today was supposed to be _mine!_ ”

Bastila directs Force through her and up her weapon, using the charged blade to easily deflect the blaster bolts just like she would with her lightsaber as she stalks forward.

“Did you really think you could contain a Jedi? You underestimated me, Brejik. And that is a mistake you won’t live to regret,” she growls, sinking her vibroblade deep into his chest, watching the light go out of his eyes.

The base of her skull is still pounding, the buzzing has returned, ringing in her ears--but she shrugs it off. The battle isn’t quite finished-- a few others are still standing, and Bastila races towards them, not fueled by hellfire and vengeance as she was, but still a force to be reckoned with.

One of them goes down with a well-placed shot, but another is advancing on the Republic agent’s cover, vibroblade in hand. Bastila pushes him off balance with a touch of Force, giving the agent time to react.

The racer turns, catching the Vulkar on the chin with a left uppercut, and then shoots him in the face as he staggers back-- just as Bastila leaps in, slashing her sword through empty air, her vibroblade mere inches from the agent’s throat, leaving them face to face.

That face… She _knows_ that face.

“You! I know you! You’re--” Bastila stops herself, a chill running down her spine.

_Revan._

Of all the people to try and rescue her, to come out of all this alive, it just had to be _Revan._

“...from the Endar Spire,” she finishes carefully.

But here she is--here they _both_ are, perhaps the only survivors from yet another ship destroyed by Malak, again. What are the odds?

Revan bites her lip, hesitating for a moment, swallowing thickly but not flinching away from the blade at her neck, her eyes not leaving Bastila’s.

“Hello, Bastila.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bastila freezes--this is ridiculous, Revan can’t possibly remember her, the damnably stubborn Sith Lord destroyed her mind _herself._ She is broken, gone, no more--Revan no longer exists. No matter who she once was, the woman before her is someone else entirely, in spite of Bastila’s best efforts to save her. Revan threw her persona away, and what Bastila could not salvage from the wreckage, the Jedi Council had filled in and modified themselves.

“Bastila? Are you alright?” Revan asks, and Bastila can feel the concern, sincerity in her voice. This is not the bitter, sarcastic woman Bastila had brought to the Republic. This is someone else entirely--or perhaps she and her Masters hadn’t changed Revan so much as they’d thought, considering how just moments before her charge had been all too happy to brawl with the Vulkars.

And Bastila was no better. _Just how much will our bond influence us both?_ They’re both covered in blood and surrounded by corpses--she’s setting such a _wonderful_ example for her charge already. But Revan’s own rage--the vicious, wild flaring thing that had caused her to snap and snarl and break men’s bones--has already left her.

And here she is holding a blade to the woman’s throat.

Bastila powers down the vibroblade, tossing it aside in disgust. _She_ is the Jedi here. _She_ should be better than this. She’s let her emotions get the better of her again, and perhaps caused Revan to do the same.

“...My apologies.” She breathes, calming herself, letting the feelings flow out of her as she exhales, releasing the tension in her shoulders. There. Now if only she could do something about the neural disruptor’s incessant buzzing in her skull...

“It’s quite alright. You’ve been through hell, Bastila. No harm done.” Revan shrugs, pulling a datakey out of her jacket. “I picked Brejik’s pockets while he was making an ass of himself. I think this is your key. Would you like me to try and--”

“ _Please,_ ” Bastila interjects. “Anything to get this damned collar off.”

“As you wish,” Revan says, stepping around Bastila and carefully aligning the key with the disruptor’s sensor at the back of her neck, releasing it with a click and letting it fall to the floor.

“ _Thank you._ ” Bastila lets out a sigh of relief, her thoughts already clearing, her mind blissfully quiet for the first time in weeks.

“Any better?”

“Much,” Bastila replies, stomping on the collar and grinding it into the dirt with her heel, then reaching out to crush it with the Force. It will never hurt her--hurt _anyone_ again. Now she can think, find a way out of this mess.

“Do we have an exit plan?”

“Carth and I have a base in an abandoned apartment in the Upper City--”

“Carth Onasi is alive? Finally, some good news.” She’s not alone with a Sith Lord in enemy territory, thank the Force--and a decorated war hero, no less.

Revan snorts, “Right. Sure. That’s not what I’d call it, but whatever you say, Master Jedi. Anyways, while we _do_ have a base in the Upper City, that area’s crawling with Sith who are looking for you. And we’ll both stick out like a sore thumb there, since we’re ahem, both covered in blood and, well…” She pauses, frowning. “I’m guessing you didn’t pick that outfit yourself,” Revan says, nodding at the leather corset and leggings. 

“What? I--no. No, I… I probably did not,” Bastila says slowly, horrified. What happened to her while she was drugged for days on end? Did she-- Did _they_ \--

_You are a Jedi, you cannot panic at the slightest unpleasantness, this is nothing-- You are fine, you are_ **_fine--_ **

Revan’s jaw sets, an ember of rage sparking and flaring up around her--dissipating in an instant as she relaxes, forces herself to calm down. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, Bastila. Here, take this--” she says, shrugging out of her jacket. “And uh, your lightsaber--well, a lightsaber, but it’s probably yours since I kinda stole it from the Vulkar base--is in the inner pocket. If that helps at all.”

Stars above, she must be a mess if an _amnesiac Sith Lord_ is coddling her, consoling her like a crying child. Bastila bites her tongue, resisting the urge to snap at her, forcing down the spite in her throat, smothering the anxiety rattling around in her chest. She wordlessly accepts the jacket, tugging her arms through the sleeves.

Bastila reaches inside the coat, and sure enough there _is_ a lightsaber tucked inside. She grasps the hilt, instantly recognizing the feel of it. It’s _hers,_ of course it’s hers, because the Force seems to have an awful, _wicked_ sense of humor, binding her fate to that of a Sith Lord, and then stranding them both on the same damned city world together, conveniently leading Revan straight to her with everything she needs.

...Revan. This is not Revan. This is Alderys Lytan. This is _Rys,_ the person _she_ made Revan to be. And Rys can do her no harm, she has to remember that. Bastila clutches the lightsaber hilt tighter--she won’t draw it, as she’s already pulled a blade on Rys once today--but just holding it helps. It grounds her, reminds her who she is.

She is a Jedi, and Jedi are not spiteful or anxious or, or--

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

 Bastila takes a deep breath, centering herself. She can do this. She can work with the shell of a former Sith Lord. She can get off this grimy cesspit of a planet. She can complete her mission.

“So, do we or do we not have an exit plan?” she says calmly.

“A friend has a few hideouts down in the Lower City, one of which isn’t too far from here. We can get cleaned up, hopefully find some disguises, and work things out from there.”

“Can this friend be trusted?”

Rys grins, radiating pride. Whoever this friend is, Revan-- _Rys_ is genuinely fond of them. “She and her Wookiee friend helped me break into the Vulkar base. Mission’s been invaluable, and she’s a damn good kid. She’s not about to sell us out to the Sith.”

“You’ve been gallivanting about with a _child?_ ”

Rys chuckles. “Don’t say that to her face, she’ll bite your head off. She’s fourteen, but she’s good with a blaster and security spikes. Besides, don’t you Jedi start as children too?”

“That’s different--” Bastila snaps, then stops herself. She’s not going to argue the ethics of Jedi training with her now, they don’t have time for this. She sighs. “Fine. We should get going. I have no doubt that what transpired here won’t go unnoticed by the Sith for long, and I will _not_ be made a prisoner again.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Rys says grimly, leading Bastila into a series of back alleys. She means it, too--Bastila catches a glimpse of a flaring, bright protectiveness accompanying the words.

“Weren’t you a linguist on the _Endar Spire_?” she asks wryly.

Rys glances back over her shoulder. “I was. Personal translator to the great Bastila Shan would have looked _fantastic_ on my résumé--it’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

Bastila snorts. “Of course, because _that’s_ the takeaway from all of this. What I meant to imply was, weren’t you _s_ t _rictly_ non-combat personnel?”

Rys grins, “You know, I tried telling that to the Sith. Didn’t go so well. It’s amazing what you can do with a few adrenals, a blaster, and a fuckton of grenades, though. What can I say? I’m a natural.”

_Of course she is, she’s only responsible for the deaths of billions._

“And brawling with common thugs, were you a natural at that, too?” Bastila asks, arching an eyebrow.

Rys laughs. “Oh no, that took practice. But after the first dozen or so, I really started getting the hang of it--"

She breaks off suddenly, grabbing Bastila and pulling her close, sending them stumbling back into the alleyway.

“What the _fuck--_ ” Bastila sputters, indignant, recoiling, _bristling_ at the contact, and Rys holds a finger to her lips.

“ _Sith,”_ she whispers, as a patrol marches past them.

How _dare_ she-- How did _Rys_ sense them before _her?_ She is a _Jedi,_ she should never be caught off guard like that--Not again, not here, not by _Revan--_

_I shouldn’t--I_ **_don’t_ ** _need your help._

And then the patrol is finally gone, their footsteps fading away.

“I’m so sorry,” Rys says, letting go and stepping back, utterly contrite.

 “I understand. Just don’t… Don’t touch me,” Bastila stammers, shoving Rys away and hugging the borrowed jacket closer, crossing her arms over her chest.

 “Bastila, are you alright?” Revan asks. She’s sincere, concerned for her, and Bastila wants to hate her for it. _She_ started this war, _she’s_ responsible for this--

 “I’m fine,” Bastila snaps, and regrets it immediately. She is not acting like a Jedi. None of this is Rys’s fault. This is not Revan, this is _Rys_ , and Rys is just trying to help. “Just… take me to your safehouse now. Please,” she says quietly.

“As you wish,” Rys says, nodding solemnly. “It isn’t far now, I promise.”

“Good.”

* * *

 

The safehouse is a dingy, miserable little studio apartment, with only a sonic shower, a ratty, overstuffed couch, a foot locker and a couple of bedrolls. But with no Sith, Vulkars, or cages, it’s better than anywhere else Bastila’s been on this awful planet.

“You’re welcome to have first go with the ‘fresher,” Rys says, plopping down on the couch, tugging off her utility belt and boots. “I’ll comm Mission and see if she can bring some sort of disguise for you in the meantime.”

“Alright,” Bastila nods. Shower. That’s a start. She’ll think better once she’s cleaned up a bit. Bastila steps into the miniscule refresher, taking off Rys’s jacket and wrinkling her nose when she catches a glimpse of herself in the filthy mirror. She probably hasn’t bathed in weeks.

Or if she has, she’d really rather not think about that right now.

Bastila takes her time, scrubbing away all the grit and dust and every trace of the Vulkars from her skin. Rys has made herself at home on the couch by the time she steps out wrapped in a towel and with Rys’s jacket over her shoulders.

“There’re some spare clothes in the locker, they should be about your size,” Rys calls, not looking up from her datapad.  

“Any news from your friend?” Bastila asks as she digs through the locker, picking out a nondescript tunic and leggings and tugging them on.

“With the gang war officially over, Mission’s getting caught up with the Beks, so she won’t be able to bring supplies down for a while. Checking the news reports though, the area’s crawling with Sith right now anyways, since they don’t have to worry about getting shot on sight by Brejik’s thugs anymore,” Rys reports, setting down her datapad.

“Lovely,” Bastila mutters under her breath, laying out one of the bedrolls and kneeling on top of it, closing her eyes. She needs to _think,_ to make sense of the mess so they can find a way off planet before the Sith catch on to their presence here.

“Isn’t it? There just always has to be something fucking up the plan,” Rys replies cheerfully. “Well! Since we’re going to be here awhile, feel free to get some rest, or help yourself to the nutrition bars in my pack, or whatever. Anything else you need?”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Bastila says tersely.

“I never intended to suggest you couldn’t, Master Jedi,” Rys replies as she closes the refresher door.

Bastila lets out a long sigh. _Focus,_ she needs to focus now. Silently, she recites the Code to herself, easing the tension out of her shoulders and slowing her breathing, settling into her meditations.

* * *

 

Rys is asleep by the time Bastila emerges from her trance, curled up on the other bedroll beside her, her hair down and splayed out wildly around her on the pillow, much like the last time Bastila saw her on Dantooine. She looks almost peaceful, but… Something is wrong. Something pulled her from her meditations, something that’s stirring in _Rys._

Hesitantly, Bastila reaches out, feeling Rys’s mind through their bond. Rys recoils, her mind wrenching Bastila away and she wakes with a start, bolting upright and breathing heavily.

“...Rys, are you alright?”

“What? No, I… I’m fine. Just, uh, had a weird dream,” Rys stammers,  pulling her arms tight around her chest, hugging herself.

“You’re obviously unwell. Do you… Would it help to talk about it?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. It was only a dream. Except it wasn’t really like a dream. I’ve been having them a lot lately, ever since I was enlisted on the _Spire,_  I think? It was… It was like a vision, or something.” Rys laughs awkwardly, fiddling with her shirt.

_Revan was known to have prophetic visions--_

“Such things aren’t uncommon in those who use the Force,” Bastila suggests, carefully weighing her words, taking a gamble.

“Ha! Sorry, but I’m not exactly a Jedi, Bastila.”

Bastila winces. Now if  _that_ doesn’t sound like something Revan would say…

Still, this is the sort of opportunity the Council had been hoping for when they captured her. It’s worth it to press her luck now.

“Yes, but you may have latent Force sensitivity, all the same. You’ve accomplished a great deal here on Taris, all while going undetected by the Sith. Surely you’ve noticed all the coincidences here? Perhaps it was because the Force was guiding you.”

Rys snorts. “Do give me some credit, Master Jedi. I doubt the _Force_ taught me to rob and beat up gangsters.”

“...Perhaps it did not lead you in that way. Still, would you be willing to tell me some of the details of this vision?” Bastila presses.

 “Fine,” Rys snaps, clutching at her shirt tail and wringing it in her hands.

She takes a deep breath, and then lets the words pour out of her all at once. “It was about you, Bastila. It was--It was like you were fighting some kind of Dark Jedi--Revan, I guess, since you killed them, right? But I don’t know, it was really unclear. I remember--I remember an explosion, and the most unbearable pain I can imagine, like I’d--like I’d just been stabbed or something. And everything was burning, and, and--you were safe, and that was the most important thing. That you were still alive, and that you were safe.”

Rys sighs, hugging her arms tight to her chest. “Are you satisfied now? What does that even mean?”

Bastila’s heart stops. She--she _remembers_ . Somehow, after all the Jedi’s work, after what even Revan did to _herself--_ she remembers. But that’s impossible, everything was _gone--_

But Revan isn’t the only person who would remember that fight.

_Bastila_ remembers. She can work with this, she can still complete her mission.

Rys only knows that Bastila was there, not that she was there herself.

Bastila can work around this, it’s worth the risk.

“It means that you likely _are_ Force sensitive, Rys. Perhaps the intensity after our encounter with the Vulkars, or the ambush on the _Endar Spire_ caused one of us to reach out into the Force and bind us, allowing us to share memories. It’s not unheard of for Jedi who have gone through a crisis together to become bound in the Force,” Bastila explains, carefully wording her half-truths and weaving in the lie.

“So, what you’re telling me is that I’m basically some sort of Jedi, and that we have a special connection.”

“A connection through the Force,” Bastila corrects her. “And I don’t know for certain. We should get off planet and consult with the Jedi Council on your… _unusual_ case as soon as possible.”

“Right, because _that’s_ why we really need to get off Taris,” Rys chuckles. “As you wish, Master Jedi. I’ll see what I can do.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 “Are you sure we can trust this Mandalorian?”

 

_  This is a terrible, terrible plan.  _

 

“We both threatened to gruesomely murder the other, so basically we’re best friends now. So, ‘yes,’ I’d say. Even if we couldn’t trust Canderous, it’s not like we have any other options,” Rys replies, gathering up her things, stuffing as many weapons and adrenals as she can fit into her pack. 

 She’s right. As long as they’re stuck on Taris, the war will drag on, the Sith quarantine will go on, and their problems will only continue to mount. And there’s no way off Taris without retrieving those launch codes. They’ll have to rob a galactic crime lord and break into the Sith base.

 

_ ‘They.’  _

 

Because of course Bastila will have to come along. Even Revan can’t manage storming the Sith base by herself. What if there’s an army inside? What if Malak sent Dark Jedi to search for her? What if one of them recognizes Revan? 

 

_ No. _

 

To let her go in alone would be to leave her to die. 

 

 And that is something Bastila has never been able to do.  

 

“I’m coming with you,” she declares.

 

Rys looks up from her preparations, her brow furrowed. “Are you sure? If something goes wrong, you’re fucked. You’d be right where the Sith want you, Bastila. I can go in with just the T3 unit, you know. It’s not a problem.” 

 

Bastila bristles, eyes blazing as she marches up to Rys, jabbing her in the chest with every word. “Except it  _ is  _ a problem, Rys. Talented as you may think you are, even you can’t handle a Dark Jedi on your own. If you’re going to have any chance of success, of  _ survival-- _ you need me there. And I promise you, I will  _ not  _ be made a prisoner again.  _ I can handle myself. _ ”

 

Rys pauses, considering for a moment before her face lights up. “So, we  _ need _ each other, huh?” she drawls, waggling her eyebrows.

 

_ Unbelievable. _

 

 Bastila groans, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I cannot  _ believe _ , that of all the people in the galaxy, I had to be stranded on this miserable planet with  _ you. _ ” 

 

“Think of it as a  _ bonding  _ exercise. What better way to get to know each other than by risking life and limb to take out Sith together?” 

 

“Don’t push it,” Bastila snaps. 

 

“As you wish, Master Jedi.” Rys grins, shaking her head. “Let’s get going then, shall we?”

 

*****

 

__ Bastila follows Rys in a borrowed stealth field generator as they make their way to the Upper City and Janice Nall’s droid shop. She hangs back as Rys chats up the shopkeeper--it’s much more difficult to detect the tell-tale shimmer from a distance, and fortunately the shop is poorly lit. 

 

They make a little small talk, and Janice is more than happy to oblige when Rys drops Canderous’s name--and even more so when she pulls out a staggering amount of credit chits from her jacket pockets. Shortly thereafter, Rys is sauntering out of the shop with T3-M4 and Bastila trailing meters behind. 

 

Rys keeps her head down once they get near the Sith base--better to keep herself out of any security footage. She sends T3 on ahead to start working on the decryption, taking up her own position behind one of the decommissioned aircraft in the base’s outer courtyard, and Bastila follows, materializing beside her. 

 

“I wasn’t aware your Republic stipend was so generous,” Bastila says wryly, referencing Rys’s display in the droid shop.

 

“Ha! No, the Republic’s pay is shit. All that was from the dueling ring and robbing the Vulkars blind. That was more than I’d see in a month if I were still stationed on the  _ Spire,”  _ Rys laughs.

 

The Jedi arches an eyebrow. “You’ve been enjoying this.” 

 

Rys shrugs. “I might as well, while we’re stranded here and before I’m sent back to endless paperwork or off to your weird mystical cult. Sure, Taris is a miserable, grimy little shithole, but I’ve had my fun. There’s always been another petty criminal to thrash or a pocket to pick, a cantina to enjoy, and best of all--” She pauses, glancing back at Bastila, batting her eyelashes and making her voice lower, huskier. “--no fraternization regulations, Master Jedi.” 

 

“Charming,” Bastila replies, not at all amused, her eyes narrowing in an icy glare.

 

 Rys chuckles, “And here I thought we had a special connection.” She pouts, feigning hurt. 

 

Bastila rolls her eyes. “It’s called a _Force bond_ and you know it.” 

 

Rys grins. “Whatever you say, Master Jedi,” she drawls, looking out from behind their hiding place, checking T3’s progress. 

 

“You’re  _ insufferable _ \--” 

 

“Door’s open,” Rys interjects, grabbing her pack and sprinting towards the base before the Jedi can get a word in edgewise. 

 

 Bastila huffs, flicking on her stealth generator and following behind. At least they can finally get this over with. 

 

*****

_ Quickly, quietly--in and out before anyone noticed-- _ That was how the operation was  _ supposed _ to go. Have T3 disable the security feeds, upload the schematics, and hopefully manage to dig up a copy of the launch codes from one of the terminals inside. Of course, things never went according to plan. 

 

 Instead they’d bribed a receptionist (after Rys’s unsuccessful attempt at flirting with her), destroyed half the consoles and  _ all  _ the cameras on the first floor, and massacred half the base’s personnel. T3 managed to disable most of the security measures at least, clearing their path of the automated sentries and disabling the shields on the advanced war droid that guarded the elevator to the next floor. 

 

They fight their way through room in the base, searching bodies in case they happen upon an officer with the codes, and find nothing. All that’s left is the elevator ...and the war droid. Carefully they make their way to the elevator chambers.

 

The droid and the accompanying turrets seem dormant, but--

 

Suddenly the doors seal behind them, leaving them with no cover as the guardian droid activates, unleashing its salvo. 

 

_ Damn it. _

 

Bastila reacts instantly, igniting her lightsaber and leaping into position, spinning her saber and deflecting the blaster bolts away from Rys and T3 as they return fire. Without its shields, it goes down quickly, plasma and ion scoring its chassis to a melted hunk of scrap.

 

Bastila clips her lightsaber to her belt, dusting herself off. “That was almost... too easy, wasn’t it?” 

 

“That’s why you bring the galaxy’s greatest astromech along. T3, I could kiss you right now,” Rys exclaims, patting the droid’s head as they beep happily. 

 

 “Yes, T3, your skills have been most useful. Now we should get going, we still haven’t found the launch codes and  _ someone  _ will notice the havoc we’ve caused here soon enough.” 

 

“Right. Nowhere left to go but up, then,” Rys agrees, activating the elevator. 

 

Bastila freezes--with the interference of all the activity in the base, she hadn’t picked up on it before, but she’s certain now--there most definitely  _ is  _ a Dark Jedi in the base, lurking on the upper floor. She shrouds herself in Force, preparing for any Dark Jedi tricks, and almost  _ laughs  _ when the doors slide open. A Sith is waiting for them alright, but it’s not even an apprentice--just a barely trained Force sensitive, little more than another of Malak’s grunts. 

 

The Sith looks up from his meditations, and zeroes in on  _ Rys _ immediately--

 

_ Shit. He can’t recognize her, Revan would never have taken off her mask around someone so pathetic, would she? She never took off her mask, except-- _

 

“I never expected to come across another Force adept on a backwater like Taris. Perhaps if I kill you now, I will finally earn my lightsaber.” 

 

_ No, he’s just an idiot. _

 

“That’s quite enough,  _ Sith _ ,” Bastila snarls, igniting her lightsaber and rushing forward with a burst of Force speed. 

 

“Good luck with that,” Rys says cheerfully, as the Sith barely raises his vibroblade in time to deflect the Jedi’s strike. 

 

 Bastila’s assault is relentless, mercilessly driving the Sith back with a vicious series of strikes, forcing him into a hold with his own vibroblade mere inches from his face. He tries vainly to reach out in the Force, some sort of dark side technique prickling at her barriers, testing them--but unable to break the aura she’s shrouded herself in. 

 

He is nothing, forgettable, a gnat--she could utterly destroy him. She is free, she is powerful, she has broken her chains, and she will not be put in them again. 

 

“While it is rather refreshing to not be the center of attention for once, I should warn you: you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Sith.” 

 

“You don’t stand a chance!” Rys yells, egging her on. 

 

“Do you  _ mind _ ?” Bastila snaps, throwing a scathing glance back over her shoulder. 

 

“No, not at all, please do keep going, Master Jedi,” Rys says, leaning back lazily against the elevator, thoroughly enjoying herself.  

 

 Bastila rolls her eyes, but otherwise ignores her. They don’t have time for this. She presses against the Sith’s mind, probing his thoughts. 

 

“You will tell me where to find the launch codes,” she says, lacing her words with Force. 

 

“I will not fall for such paltry tricks,” the Sith grunts. 

 

“Very well then.  _ Tell me the launch codes or I will smite you where you stand.” _

 

The man’s eyes widen as Bastila twists her dualsaber, forcing their locked blades ever closer.

 

“I--I have them here, they’re on my person--” 

 

“Good,” Bastila murmurs, leveraging her lightsaber to wrench the Sith’s vibroblade out of his hands, sending it skittering away across the floor. She knocks him off his feet, and keeps her saber pointed at his throat. “Hand them over. Slowly,” she orders. 

 

The Sith complies, reaching into his coat when something pricks Bastila’s awareness, something is  _ wrong-- _

 

_ Deceit. Lies. This a ploy. He’s going to raise the alarm, bring the entire Sith army down on our heads-- _

 

He’s suddenly flung back against the wall, his neck snapping with a sickening crack, his form slumping to the floor. 

 

_ That wasn’t--I didn’t--  _

 

_ Revan.  _

 

Bastila flicks her saber off, whirling around to find Rys standing in the entryway, gasping for breath, staring at her hands in shock. 

 

“I--Uh--I felt--I  _ knew _ \--Something was off,” she explains, coughing nervously. “So, uh, Force adept, huh?”     


	4. Chapter 4

_Revan._

 

_Revan just killed a Sith--_

 

 This is--it’s _impossible--_ Revan is dead, gone, she utterly destroyed herself--this is _Rys_ now _._ And yet. . . It’s apparent in the Force swirling around her: this is Revan, and even if she does not remember the Force, the Force remembers _her._

 

And if Malak, or anyone from Revan’s inner circle happened to be nearby, if they felt the shift in the Force, if they know that Revan’s still alive--

 

“Oh fuck--Master Jedi, are you alright? Did I--did I hurt you?” Rys asks, her voice rising in panic, and T3 beeps in concern.

 

That snaps Bastila out of it; she squares her shoulders, reminds herself to breathe and centers herself. She is a Jedi, and she will act like one. There’s no way of knowing if Malak’s close, if he knows--but she can be rational about this. Even if the Dark Lord _is_ in fact aware of Rys’s identity and on his way to destroy them both--they already have an escape plan in place, they merely need to see it through--this changes nothing.

 

“I’m fine,” Bastila reassures her, forcing herself to relinquish her hold on her lightsaber hilt and clip it to her belt. She’s _fine._ They’re _both_ fine. Of course they are.

 

Rys’s eyebrows raise in concern, still not quite convinced, so Bastila calms her with a touch of Force before she can comment. They don’t have time for idle conversation, and Bastila certainly doesn’t have the luxury of worry.

 

“Just grab the codes so we can get out of here before more Sith arrive.”

 

Rys nods her assent, and immediately sets to work searching the governor’s corpse.

 

“As you wish, Master Jedi.”

 

*****

 

“Is this really necessary?” Rys says out of the corner of her mouth as Bastila lurks in stealth at the back wall. They’re waiting for Canderous in the private room at Javyar’s Cantina, right on time and just as requested.

 

_You’re a danger to yourself and others until you can learn how to properly control your powers,_ Bastila chides her across their bond.

 

Rys snorts. “So what, you’re my babysitter now? Here to hold my hand and make sure I don’t accidentally murder anyone? How are you inside my head, anyways?”

 

_Basic telepathy is a relatively common skill among Force users. Our bond simply makes such communication easier._

 

“Right, our ‘special connection.’ That’s pretty useful, I guess, so you don’t have to break stealth to lecture me when I’m doing something stupid.”

 

Bastila sends over a flicker of amusement. _Exactly._

 

“Though I suppose it gives it away if I’m talking to _you,_ let’s see--” The Force swells in Rys for a moment, and she reaches out, brushing against Bastila’s mind.

 

_Like this?_

 

Bastila starts, almost knocking over one of the chairs. It’s--it feels like Revan’s mind, even though it’s _Rys,_ Rys who is only what Bastila made her to be. But it feels like _her_ , without the cold, terrifying power behind it that had gripped Bastila like a vice, threatening to destroy her--it is the same, and yet. . . changed. Rys is tentative, gentle, anxious and unsure of herself--things that Bastila never would have expected in Revan.  

 

_. . .Yes. Like that._

 

_Heh. First try. Guess I’m pretty talented,_ Rys says, grinning and leaning back in her chair.

 

The Force remembers Revan, indeed, remembers her call, her command--

 

_Focus,_ Bastila reminds her, with the telepathic equivalent of an eyeroll. _Your Mandalorian friend is here._

 

Sure enough, moments later Canderous is striding through the door, not even taking a seat before getting down to business.

 

“Lytan! I know there was a break in at the Sith base, and I know it was you. You’d better have something for me.”

 

“Well,” Rys drawls, gesturing at T3 who’s sitting beside the table. “I do have this droid to deliver for you. Does that count?”  

 

“Doo-woop!” T3 beeps happily.

 

Canderous scowls, taking a seat across from Rys. “Cute. Do you have the damn codes or not, Lytan,” he grinds out from between his teeth.

 

“Depends. How are you going to get me and my friends into Davik’s estate?” Rys says sweetly, leaning forward and baring her teeth in a predatory grin.

 

_Is baiting the Mandalorian really wise?_ Bastila groans.

 

_It’s alright, I know what I’m doing. Besides, Master Jedi, I have_ **_you_ ** _for back-up, don’t I?_ Rys replies.

 

“Give me the codes and I’ll get you a ship. I’m not making any guarantees on sneaking in your little friends.”

 

“It’s just two other people, Canderous. How hard can it be for a _Mandalorian_ to sneak in a couple extra?”

 

“If you want to bring the Exchange down on your heads, fine, but I’m only giving my recommendation for _you,_ Lytan. Your little friends are going to have to find their own way in.”

 

“Then you’re just going to have to give me more information, Ordo. It can’t be harder than breaking into the Sith base.”

 

Canderous’s eyes narrow, and he stares at Rys long and hard before he finally cracks a smile, breaking off in a chuckle. “You’re having way too much fun with this, Lytan.”

 

Rys beams. “Absolutely. You don’t get sassed enough, Canderous. If I didn’t know any better I might say you’re even having a little fun yourself! Now, you _know_ damn well that I have the codes, and that neither of us can get off this planet without each other. So walk me through the rest of your grand escape plan.”

 

“Davik’s always looking for new talent. He’ll remember you from the swoop races, and with my recommendation, he’ll just need to run a thorough background check before you’ll be invited to join the Exchange.”

 

Bastila’s blood runs cold.

 

Rys has no _background_ for the Exchange to check--only military records and training, as well as  a few vague memories of a brief childhood on Deralia with a twin sibling and two fathers that Bastila had somehow salvaged when Revan had tried to destroy herself.

 

Months and countless hours of planning and preparing Revan’s new identity, and all the Jedi Council’s plans could be ruined by a crimelord on a backwater like Taris.

_With your Republic history, if Davik goes digging he won’t like what he finds. This is too dangerous--_ Bastila warns.

 

“We don’t have time to wait for Davik to file all the paperwork, Canderous. I don’t need to officially join the Exchange, I just need to get out of this shithole,” Rys says.

 

Canderous shrugs. “You’ll be in the estate while Davik’s lackeys check you out over the course of the week--they’re very thorough. We can steal the _Ebon Hawk_ in the meantime, I have the access codes for the ship. I want off this rock as much as you do, Lytan.”

 

“Sounds like a plan. Care to help me out with smuggling my friends in, too?”

 

“If it gets me those damn codes, fine. What do you need to know?”

 

“Oh, let’s see. . .” Rys’s grin slowly widens, spreading across her face as her eyes light up with vindictive glee. “The estate wouldn’t happen to be connected to the Undercity sewers, would it?”

 *****

 

 

 Davik’s estate is a glittering mansion amongst the spires of the Upper City, its sprawling courtyard surrounded by fortified durasteel walls to keep out the great unwashed.  And as luck would have it, Bastila ends up following Rys, Canderous, and T3 along right through the front gates unchallenged. She’s in stealth still, of course, but it’s certainly a step up from the alternative. . .

 

_Lucky for you I’m a menace to society who needs a Jedi babysitter,_ Rys teases.

 

_I wouldn’t call accompanying the woman who may or may not accidentally kill someone with a thought ‘lucky,’_ Bastila retorts.

 

_I’d think I’m better company than the rakghouls in the sewers,_ Rys says pointedly.

 

_That’s debatable._

 

_You wound me, Master Jedi._

 

 “You’ll be meeting with Davik in an hour. Make sure you’re ready by then,” Canderous says gruffly, tapping in a code and letting Rys into a suite as Bastila silently slips in behind her.

 

He nods over Rys’s shoulder, staring right at Bastila’s position. “Thought your little friends were finding another way in, Lytan. Your shadow’s going to have to turn off their generator and get a cover, or stay in the room. Davik’s bodyguard’s no Mandalorian, but he’s not dumb enough to miss a stealth field when it’s right in front of him.”

 

“I’ll worry about that when I get to it, Ordo. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got some prep to do,” Rys snaps, sealing the door shut in his face.

 

_Well then. What was that about trusting the Mandalorian?_ Bastila prompts, taking a seat on one of the couches.

 

_Hold on, this room is probably bugged,_ Rys says, dropping to her knees and checking under the end tables and light fixtures for listening devices.

 

_Ah. Let me handle that._ Bastila closes her eyes, letting herself sink into the Force, feeling for something out of place, for a trace of deception.

 

_There._ She reaches out towards an air vent, then crushes the device in an invisible fist. She sweeps through the room once more and finding it clear, finally deactivates her stealth belt.

 

“So, if you don’t trust the Mandalorian, how are we going to make this plan work?”

 

“Oh.” Rys squirms, taking a seat beside Bastila on the couch.  “I don’t _distrust_ Canderous. I trust him to get us a ship, and to help us get off this rock. That’s not the same as trusting him with. . . you, Master Jedi.”

 

_Oh._ Yes, that is different. There’s a difference with trusting a mercenary with their lives, and with the so-called last hope of the Republic. A mercenary whose reasons for helping them are that he isn’t getting paid enough for his murders and harassment of Taris’s civilians. She’s too important to lose. Or so the hundreds of crew on the _Endar Spire_ had thought. As did Rys, and. . .

 

Revan had thought that too, literally throwing herself on her sword because Bastila was always, always too important to lose.  

 

“I see,” Bastila says, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Then we’ll continue as planned?”

 

Rys takes Bastila’s hand and squeezes reassuringly, grinning and brimming with confidence. “Just as we planned, Bastila. We’ll be out of this shithole before you know it.”

 

Bastila raises a single disparaging eyebrow at Rys, then closes her eyes, shaking her head with a smile.

 

“Then we’d best get to work.”

 

*****

 

For the most part, it had all gone according to plan--T3 had successfully disabled Davik’s security measures, Rys had ran off to escort Carth through the estate, and Bastila was using her Battle Meditation from her place in the guest quarters, nudging Exchange brutes away from the hangar to clear a path for their companions. As soon as Mission and Zaalbar arrived with Carth, they were to rendezvous with Canderous, and he would give them access to the _Ebon Hawk._

 

They’d only failed to account for a total bombardment of the planet.

 

Bastila felt it as the first bombs fell, burning the sky, grinding the towering spires of the Upper City to dust as thousands of lives blinked out at once.

 

_Rys._ She has to find Rys, has to get them both out of here before the world collapses on them--

 

She leaps to her feet, no longer bothering with her stealth generator, racing to the hangar. They were supposed to meet at the hangar, it’s their only chance, if they can just get to the ship in time--

 

Several of the hallways have collapsed into smoking rubble, which she blasts out of her way. The sky is already falling down; it’s of little concern to her if she makes it fall any faster-- she just needs to find her way to Rys and heaven help whatever stands in her way.

 

They’re at the hangar. _Everyone_ is at the hangar--Rys and Carth, and all the companions they picked up along the way, are having a shootout, pinned between Davik’s forces and the _Ebon Hawk._

 

Impatience and fury catch in Bastila’s throat and she sprints through the fray with a burst of Force.

 

_They don’t have time for this!_

 

Rys is crouched behind a fallen beam, darting up to pick off mercenaries with her holdout blaster when Bastila knocks into her. Revan is controlled for now, keeping her emotions in check even as the ceiling is falling down and hired thugs are trying to kill her. She doesn’t need Revan’s _control,_ she needs Revan’s rage, Revan’s terrifying presence and power--

 

_So she takes it._

 

Bastila seizes Rys’s hand, delving into the Force and dragging Rys along with her. Revan could contain an entire strike team of Jedi Masters with a wave of her hand. A dozen mercenaries is _nothing._ And they are in her way _._

 

A flick of her wrist and Davik’s party is frozen in place. She clenches her fists, holding Rys’s hand tighter as she contains the mercenaries, compresses them, crushing them with Force until they fall to their knees. They are disgusting, useless, insignificant creatures, and she could utterly _destroy_ them--

 

“Bastila? Come on. _We need to go._ The Sith will clean them up for us, Master Jedi, don’t worry,” Rys says urgently, tugging Bastila up the ramp onto the _Ebon Hawk_ as she comes back to herself.

 

“What’s going on?” Mission shouts from behind her, following Carth as he runs to the cockpit.

 

“The Sith fleet’s bombarding the planet, they must have decided it was worth more to them as rubble. Just like Telos,” Carth replies, hopping into the pilot seat. “I’m going to need a co-pilot! Bastila, can you put in the coordinates?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Bastila says numbly, sliding into her seat and pulling up the galaxy map. “I’m setting a course for Dantooine now.”

 

“Incoming fighters! Somebody get on the turret and get them off of us or we’ll be scrap before can get into hyperspace!”

 

“I’ll take care of them,” Canderous growls, turning on his heel and heading to man the guns.

 

It only takes a few minutes to make the hyperspace jump, but it feels like an eternity, blaster fire rocking the ship and Carth maneuvering past the blockade as _millions_ of lives flicker out in the Force now, clawing desperately at her awareness as they disappear--

 

_Why go to the trouble to conquer Taris, only to burn it weeks later? Why would the Sith do any of this?_

 

It eats at her, because she knows why--as improbable, as illogical as it is. The Sith can’t risk her returning to the Republic, to the war.

 

They destroyed a planet, simply because Bastila was there.

 

Because she is too important to lose.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between updates, guys! Thank you so much for your patience! Andddd in between updates, a lovely friend commissioned [ this](http://smolbirbfren.tumblr.com/post/142778225712/pedanticsoothsayer-commissioned-saph-y-for-this) art of Rys and Bastila for me, so if you were wondering what she looks like, wonder no more!


End file.
